


Puppy Love

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Circumstantial evidence leads Sam to believe that Dean and Cas have been cursed and have (temporarily) turned into a pair of dogs. What follows is a series of misunderstandings wherein Sam is okay with their relationship and Dean doesn't want to talk about it. The first important thing to note that Sam Winchester always has the best of intentions and the second is that despite being very smart, he is not very bright. </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Quote:</b> “Neuter Dean? Sam might as well pack up everything he owned and move to Guam."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Love

The first important thing to note is that Sam Winchester always has the best of intentions and the second is that despite being very smart, he is not very bright.

 

Puppy Love.

It was a peaceful break for Sam and Dean, rare between issues with angels, demons and the ever-prevalent threat of total annihilation. Things were calm; almost too calm, so as per the usual plan they were both holed up at Bobby’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. If the Winchesters knew anything about anything it was that karma was a bitch and also, she had a lot of shoes.

They had limped through an entire week playing house: morning coffee and pancakes, the whole nine yards. It didn’t matter much that Dean drank out of a chipped mug that read ‘Stake First, Ask Questions Later’ (which was technically inaccurate) or that there were two new coffee rings on Bobby’s irreplaceable sixteenth century bible. Home is where the heart is and the added bonus of a panic room with enough salt rounds to outlast Armageddon was just their kind of cozy.

Of course Castiel had dropped by, orbiting Dean like a lonely planet. Sam felt a little disadvantaged because when it came right down to it, he was the praying type and Dean wasn’t. But, he put a lot of effort into being happy all the same because faking it was nine tenths of making it- or something to that effect. In the end it was just another thing that Sam didn’t have and Dean did, like smooth pickup lines or an inexhaustible supply of witty retorts. 

That aside, part of not having much to do meant Sam and Dean didn’t do much of anything. Between research and idle speculation there was an unusual amount of time at Bobby’s spent loafing. So when (in the waning hours of the dawn) Castiel came for Dean, Sam was still fast asleep because there was absolutely no reason in the universe for him to be up before ten o’clock in the morning.

~~~

“I have to tell Sam where we’re headed, or at least Bobby.”

“There’s no time.” Castiel explained urgently, “We won’t be gone that long, hours perhaps a day at most.”

What he neglected to clarify is that time is not congruent between Earth and the etherspace of heavenly escapades, so saying it would be a tad longer than that was a bold-faced and outright lie.

“Well lemme just leave him a message, then.” Dean took out his cell, “Hang o- Son of a bitch!”

As it happened, Dean was whisked away leaving his cell phone in the grass near Bobby’s front yard. Where he ended up is inconsequential (and a longer story than need be told) but ultimately it can be assumed that when the official angel dictionary defines cryptic as ‘a default emotive response’ you’re likely not headed anywhere fun.

Coincidentally it was around the time of Dean’s departure that a pair of homely stray dogs wandered into the auto yard and cosmic coincidence that Sam woke up early anyway.

~~~

Sam yawned a giant, open-mouthed yawn. The early morning sun was streaming through the front window and there was no point in going back to sleep. Sleeping in a beam of light always reminded him of an ant under a magnifying glass and if that introspective self-analyses wasn’t enough to get a person up and at’em there probably wasn’t much else that would.

Feeling groggy and robbed of a lie-in, Sam stepped out onto the front stoop and cracked his neck. As he turned to face the sun he noticed two slinking shapes in the shadow of a burnt-out Honda. Sam had his gun cocked and ready in a split second; mysterious shadows so very rarely equated to warm SPCA feelgoods in his line of business that it is was more proactive to be prepared. Much to his relief however, two dirty dogs padded into view instead of anything with extra teeth, limbs or scales.

The first one was a brown mess, one ear up and the other down. It had splashes of dark fur and mud on its face which gave it a roguish and mischievous look. It was missing tufts of hair, scarred like a fighting dog; tail atrophied in a strange, loopy curl. The second dog was a smaller pitbull-mix, white with forlorn blue eyes, pinky-paws and a liver nose. It stared at Sam with an uncomfortably focused gaze.

“C’mere! Hey! Hey, you hungry? Gimme a second, I’ll get you, something.” They probably just got out of someone’s yard, he thought.

Sam banged through the screen door and when he came back he had a quarter of a cold pizza and a lonely breakfast sausage abandoned from the morning before. With the white dog still keeping a guarded distance Sam tossed it the sausage, surprised when instead of eating it the dog sniffed it, rolled it over and then whined. He was even more surprised when the brown dog trotted down the stairs nosed the sausage towards his companion who finally ate it with every indication of displeasure and then trotted back, looking expectantly for another slice of pizza.

“I guess you don’t trust people much, eh? I should probably take you inside, call the pound or something…” Sam said, more for his own benefit than theirs. “Dunno about Bobby but Dean’s not really a dog person. We don’t stick around long enough to do- well, you know. Dog stuff.”

The brown dog gave him a mournful look.

“Don’t look at me like that, Buddy. Trust me, I don’t make the executive decisions.”

Rrroww-rrow.

“Yeah yeah. No chance your friend’ll come inside so I can get you guys somewhere safe, is there?”

The dog gave Sam a puzzled look.

“Well, it was worth a try either way.” Sam stood up and opened the screen door, “C’mon boy, c’mon in. C’mon, in the house.”

The brown dog (now tentatively named Buddy) looked from the house to Sam and back again, took a few tentative steps forward and then stopped just before his nose crossed the threshold. Turning around he whined at the pitbull who followed along just behind him, hackles raised as he carefully avoided brushing against Sam’s bandy legs.

~~~

It had been a few hours. Bobby had one phone on his ear holding for the county animal rescue, the FBI phone on the other ear and another police line lit up and waiting.

“Yes, Agent Fogarty and Morris are my dogs- I mean men. No, two dogs. Not you- men. Yes, agents Fogarty and Morris. No, I said I have two strays from- Damnit, can you hold?”

Sam snickered.

“Fo-Gar-ty. What, am I speaking Swahili? Now pull up your pants and don’t bother me over things your department can handle, your boys can read a badge can’t they? Damn strait you will- and get them some coffee while you’re at it.” Bobby slammed the receiver down and sighed.

“All sorted out?” Sam asked innocently.

“Don’t you start, boy. I’ve got about this much patience,” Bobby pinched his fingers, “And even less liquor. Now, where’d that damn brother of yours get off to? Didn’t call, leave a note?”

“No, I called a couple of times but it went right to voicemail.”

“Well, it’s only been a couple of hours.”

“Yeah but he wouldn’t have just taken off without saying something.”

“Are you kidding? First pair of heels waltzin’ by and he be off like a-“ Bobby was interrupted by a pleading whine. “That dog is crossin’ its damn legs. Take ‘em both outside before they ruin the upholstery.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Bobby and then looked pointedly at the living room rug. In addition to seepage from the devil’s traps he’d painted underneath it there was blood splatter, spectral ooze, burn marks and a half-dozen other Tide-proof stains that were better left a mystery. A lifted leg probably wasn’t going to be the worst thing it had or would ever see because Bobby Singer did unmentionably cruel things to Persian craftsmanship.

Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright. You coming?” Sam gestured towards the door.

“Yeah, might as well. Why don’t you just try callin’ him again?” 

Sam’s phone was already on the second ring as he opened the back door. He didn’t notice Buddy’s ears perking up or the excited thump of his tail until he shot out between his legs, disappearing around the corner of the house. Before either Sam or Bobby could chase after him, he was trotting back with something in his mouth. As he got closer, Sam could hear the familiar jangle of Dean’s phone which was spat out at his feet. Buddy sat on his haunches and gave Sam an expectant look because what he really wanted was a scratch behind the ear.

The white dog watched wistfully.

“Dean never leaves without taking his phone.” Sam said.

“Maybe he dropped it.”

“I don’t know, maybe. I think we ought to call Cas, they might be together.”

“Pay-as-you-go angel plan?”

“Yeah.”

Sam always felt a little more awkward praying when he knew there was a likelihood of being answered, but he sat down on the porch step and closed his eyes anyway.

“Umm… Hey, uh- Cas. It’s me, Sam.” Bobby snorted, but Sam ignored him. “I uh, just wanted to see if you had Dean with you because- well, we don’t have him with us.”

There was absolute silence, so Sam tried a little more flourish.

“Castiel, I pray to thee…” Sam murmured in a church-whisper, mashing up all the prayers he’d ever heard into one and hoping for the best. He was so intent on doing a good job of it that he didn’t notice the pitbull’s ears perk up at the softness in his voice, or see him creep forward until a soft jowl rested on his arm. Sam looked down as mournful blues looked back up and at the precise moment Sam’s heart sunk into his stomach his eyes widened in horror.

“… Cas?”

~~~

“I don’t even know where to start looking! This isn’t exactly in the manual you know. I’ve never heard of anything that could pull this off, I mean there are a few bumps and uglies that could turn a person into a- a something else, but-“

“Yeah, I know.” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “But I mean, look at them.”

Bobby had to admit, there was a striking resemblance. Closer inspection of Buddy- well Dean revealed a three-toed scar on his shoulder that looked suspiciously familiar and as for Cas, he was more or less the same, just hairier.

“Well, what are we gonna do about them in the meantime? We can’t just plunk down a can of Alpo and hope for the best. How you boys manage to get yourself into so much damn trouble…”

“Look we’ll just… Keep looking for something and in the meantime I guess we’ll just make them comfortable.” Sam knelt down and grabbed Dean’s muzzle, “Listen man, we’re gonna get you back to normal- I know you can probably hear me, so we’ll fix it okay?”

Dean cocked his head to the side and barked.

“I know, I know. It’ll just take a little time.” Sam apologized.

~~~

A thousand miles away (give or take a plane of existence) and still completely human, Dean was arguing. “Cas, seriously. You can’t just drag me off whenever you goddamn decide to! How long is this going to take, anyway?”

“I told you, not long.”

“Fine. Whatever.” Dean shrugged, “Let’s go.”

~~~

It had been two days and Bobby was frustrated, Sam was worried and there were unforeseen complications; for one, Dean had fleas.

Which meant so did Castiel.

“Just get some dip down at the store, we’ll wash ‘em out in the yard.” Bobby said.

“Fine.” Sam had said. “Listen Dean, I’m going to pick up some soap for that, just try and stop scratching at it? Cas, make sure he doesn’t scratch too much, okay? Watch him.”

Cas’ ear perked up at the command and swivelled his head from Sam’s pointed finger to Dean who was already raising a tentative back foot. Castiel barked at him and (looking incredibly forlorn and a bit guilty) Dean slunk over to Bobby’s couch, curled up and whimpered. Castiel sat on his haunches, chest puffed out a little too much and Sam left for the store.

When he came back, he almost dropped his groceries.

Still on the couch Dean had rolled onto his back dangling his forepaws in the air and Castiel had nuzzled into the space between the first and second cushions, head resting on Dean’s shoulder. He raised his head when Sam came through the door and without lowering his gaze licked the spittle from Dean’s jowl.

“Whoah. Whoah! Okay, just… Alright then.” Sam ducked into the kitchen, face aflame.

It took him a minute to realize he was being stupid. Dogs licked things; it was more or less a fundamental part being canine. Just because dog-Castiel curled up with dog-Dean didn’t mean that anything else was going on. He wasn’t even sure why he’d gotten embarrassed and was left with the sneaking suspicion that he was probably very gullible.

Sam crept back into the living room to find Dean still asleep but Castiel was now on the rug.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I mean, you’re dogs right? I guess I was being silly and…” Sam ran his fingers through his hair and nearly jumped out of his own skin when Bobby cleared his throat.

“Get the flea bath?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, well… Let’s hose ‘em down.”

It was easier said than done, Dean was filthy.

~~~

“Alright, almost done- just gotta get under your tail.” Sam balked, for a second he’d forgotten that he was washing his brother. “Uh, you know what. You can just take care of that yourself.”

Dean whined.

“Dunno if he’ll wanna do it that way.” Bobby said darkly.

“Oh. Right.” Sam flinched. Tongues.

What happened next was going on Sam’s list of things he never, ever wanted to talk about: but Dean was clean and the first thing he did was roll in the grass and immediately after that, the dirt lane. It was so like Dean to be contrary just because he could and Sam briefly entertained the idea of swatting him with newspaper, just for the novelty value of getting away with it.

While Dean dried off, coaxing Castiel underneath the hose was surprisingly easier than Sam had imagined. In fact, he seemed to understand the process and stood resolutely still while he was soaped and rinsed. When Bobby finished gently toweling him down he stood facing the sun, presumably for the warmth while Dean pranced around him kicking up dirt clumps as he went.

“Dunno if I’ve seen him this happy in while.” Bobby said offhandedly.

“I don’t care if he likes being a dog or not, we can’t leave him like this!”

“I never said leave him, don’t get your panties in a twist. I just said he looked happy, not much to worry about when you’re a dog.”

“Yeah. Yeah okay.”

Sam watched as Dean rolled around, dulling the clean shine of his coat and covering himself in soggy dandelion fluff. Tongue lolling out in absolute peace, Dean didn’t move when Castiel padded up to him and nuzzled his ear. In fact, he licked him right on the nose. If Bobby noticed he didn’t say anything but he definitely noticed the strangled noise that Sam made.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh, yes. Yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”

He wasn’t fine.

~~~

Sam also wasn’t fine on Tuesday when he walked in a Castiel cleaning Dean’s paws, or the next evening when he walked in on them curled up together on the chair. On Wednesday there was a nose-to-butt episode and Sam really did hit Dean with a newspaper. On Thursday he caught them snuggled up on his bed, then later on the porch and when he took them for an evening walk Dean caught wind of a fancy female poodle and Sam was forced to manhandle them into the house before Castiel ripped it to pieces.

It was abnormal.

Dean was a straight-up womanizer; he liked his women busty, drunk and naked- in that order. Sam had been ditched at the bar on so many occasions it was easier to count the times he hadn’t been ditched because the list was shorter. Besides that, Dean was a prolific sinner and Castiel (however liberal) was still an angel. In Sam’s mind that should have put the nix on anything and everything but still, all the nuzzling, licking closeness; no dog Sam had ever seen was that touchy-feely.

On Saturday there was a humping incident.

The stress induced headache that had been nesting in the forefront of Sam’s brain for the past few days finally came to an ugly head. Nothing in his life was ever, ever normal and he took a deep, cleansing breath before decided what to do next.

“I’m taking you both to the vet.”

~~~

“Part of the problem is that they aren’t neutered.” The vet gave Sam an appraising look, “Unneutered dogs have a lot of sexual tension which can translate into aggression, or in this case unwanted demonstrative behavior. Be thankful they aren’t fighting. So, when would you like to schedule the surgery?”

“What?” Sam’s eyes went wide, “Oh god, no! I don’t want to get them fixed. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with them, you know- that they’re okay. Healthy.”

Neuter Dean? Sam might as well pack up everything he owned and move to Guam.

“I really suggest you reconsider, but I can’t force you to make this decision. I have some fliers.” Sam nodded and backed up towards the door, but the vet wasn’t finished.

“Apart from that, there is still the matter of…”

When Sam finally stumbled out of the veterinary office, it was less three-hundred and forty-nine dollars courtesy of a Mr. Hernado Haltopian, American Express. Dean and Cas had both needed rabies shots, secondary shots and Dean had an ear infection.

The ride back to Bobby’s was awkward.

“Listen guys, I’m sorry. I don’t really know what’s going on with you, but- it has to stop. Think about everything that’s going on, do you really think this is a good idea? I’m not trying to judge you, I’m really not- but this is really just a bad idea.”

Castiel stared at him blankly and Dean looked a little sad.

“I’m going to find a way to get you back and then what? Don’t look at me like that. You’re just lucky Bobby’s been so busy trying to put you back he hasn’t noticed anything.”

Sam felt guilty.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Dean to be happy, because he did. It was just such a huge leap from well, Dean. Dean was macho. He was a drinker and a fighter and ladies’ man extraordinaire, but maybe that was part of the problem. Sam had such a preconceived idea of what made Dean who he was that maybe he was unwilling to admit he could be anything else. If Dean could get over himself and move on, maybe the problem was actually Sam.

Sam was a bad brother.

~~~

“Holy shit. Seriously Cas, the next time you pop up unannounced to drag me on one of your holy missions, remind me to punch you in the face.”

“You agreed to come along, Dean.”

“I’m covered in- in- whatever the hell this is.” Dean wiped his hands on his jeans.

“You’ve been covered in worse.”

“Not the point.”

“Come on, we have to hurry- this window does not last long.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Back at Bobby’s, Sam was having a heart-to-heart.

~~~

Sam and Dean were sitting on the back porch, a warm summer breeze blowing past. Bobby had gone across town to see a psychic and maybe get some intel on the situation so they were alone.

“Dean, it’s not that I’d be upset you if you… you know- but this isn’t how you normally act! I mean no offense dude, it’s just that I’m your brother and I can tell you: even when you don’t look like this-“ Sam gestured, “You’re still pretty much a dog. I don’t know if it’s this curse thing, or if it’s a you-and-Cas thing or what.”

Dean cocked an ear and tilted his head.

“I know, man- it’s okay. I get why you probably didn’t want to talk to me about it, I guess I overreacted a little bit. I’m not saying I get it, because I don’t. I’m just saying that if this is something real and not just you’re doing something because you can, I’ll try and be okay with it. You’re my brother and I lo-“ Sam mentally chided himself. Winchester’s didn’t do the “L” word. “I’m here for you.”

Dean buried his head under Sam’s arm.

“How come it’s okay for you to get chick-flicky? Jerk.” Sam rubbed Dean behind the ears.

They were quiet for a while, sitting together in pensive silence. Sam was thinking how things were probably going to change. Maybe it would be just Cas and Dean after a while and he’d be alone, or maybe it would be some sort of wacky hunter-trio. Somehow Sam figured it would probably end up a sort of running sitcom; Sam and Dean would hunt things, Cas would be Cas and it would be like a big, dysfunctional family moral punctuated with violence, psalms and pie. For a few blessed minutes there was no Lilleth, no apocalypse and no impending doom; just Sam, his thoughts and a waggy-tailed Dean.

“I guess I should tell Cas I’m okay- you know, with your- this whole thing.”

Dean looked up at Sam, mostly because he had stopped patting him.

“C’mon, let’s go inside.”

~~~

It was at the precise moment that Sam was talking to dog-Cas that the real Cas and Dean showed up silently behind him. It was only Dean’s excellent poker face that kept him from laughing as Sam carried on a fully narrated conversation with a pair of homely strays.

“Listen Cas, I’m sorry I acted like a jerk. It was just a bit of a shock and- okay, this isn’t really about what I thought. I just wanted to let you know that I’m okay if you guys are okay. I mean, Dean’s an ass-“

Rrrrrw!

“- But he’s got it where it counts.”

Dog-Cas tilted his head. The real Cas tilted his head as well.

“I just never really thought that Dean would stick around with anyone past the twenty-four hour mark- okay, maybe he’s not that bad, but… definitely not- well, you know. I’m not saying he’s- or that you’re… I guess people are just people and uh- seriously, stop staring at me like that! I’m just trying to say that it’s okay if you have some kind of connection.” Sam couldn’t bring himself to say ‘relationship’.

Dean nearly choked on his tongue.

Sam nodded at dog-Dean. “Yeah, I know I should have caught on sooner, I mean how many soulful looks does a guy have to give you? But I’m going to say this once: of all the ways to find out that your brother doesn’t pitch, visuals weren’t my first choice. Seriously guys, it wasn’t cool.”

Sam rested his hand on dog-Cas’ shoulder awkwardly, “Welcome to the family, I guess.”

Dean cleared his throat.

“So what Sammy… Couldn’t find your Barbies?”

Sam wheeled around, “Dean?!”

“One and only.”

“But- you… Were gone and…”

“You thought I’d turned into a dog? What the hell?”

“They look like you! Both of you!” Sam gestured.

“So? Ten thousand people in China look alike, doesn’t mean they’re all the same! And where’d you get the idea that Cas and- that I- we- DUDE!“

“We do exchange many soulful looks.” Cas supplied.

“You! Can it and you-“ Dean tossed a dirty look at Castiel then turned to Sam, “Seriously dude?”

Sam buried his head in his hands and moaned. It sounded suspiciously like ‘why me’.

“Man, I can’t believe this- I’m gone for like, four hours-“

“Four hours? You’ve been gone almost two weeks! We thought you were cursed”

“Two weeks? What do you mean two weeks? What’s today?”

“The nineteenth.”

“God damnit. CAS!”

There was a fluttering of feathers and Castiel was gone. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We are never talking about this ever again.”

“But-“

“Sam-“

Rrrow?

“Dean-“

“Never again Sammy, so fucking help me.”

“Fine.”

~~~

It should be said that dog-Cas and dog-Dean were taken to the county animal shelter that evening and were claimed shortly thereafter. Both Butch and Cassidy (their real names) returned to their rural home to live out their dog-days surrounded by chickens and cattle. Apart from the occasional dream of a too-tall man with leftover pizza, they were untroubled by the implications of human misunderstanding because there’s no problem that can’t be solved be a good scratch.

This is one of the many reasons dogs are inherently happy.


End file.
